Story Scrapbook
by kslchen
Summary: This is a collection of several different and completely unconnected stories about various Blythes, Fords and Merediths. Basically just ideas that turned up in my head one day and demanded to be written out. Hope you enjoy.
1. The newest news

_Hello everyone.  
Over the years I have written several short stories using LMM's characters and stumbling upon them last night I decided to bunch them all together and publish them (though some readers may be familiar with one or the other already).  
Mostly these centre on the Blythe children as well as the Fords and Meredith and are alternatively set slightly before, during or (mostly) after the war. It is really a bit of a potpourri, with different central characters and different pairings and happy and sad stories alike. There are even some what-if-stories, though they stay true to the world LMM has created (no wizards, pirates or vampires included!).  
Possibly you have noticed by now that English is not my first language. Most of these stories have never been proof-read by anyone but myself, so it is entirely probable that you will stumble upon the odd mistake (I am especially struggling with commas – where and when to put one – because none of my teachers ever thought to properly teach me the rules!). If you do find mistakes, feel free to point them out, but please be gentle. I try my best.  
That said, I hope you enjoy my stories and if you do, reviews would be greatly appreciated._

_Regarding this first story: I wrote this when I was about fourteen or fifteen and it shows, especially when it comes to the wording of it. But I do not believe in "beautifying" an existing story years after it was written (save for correcting obvious mistakes), so it is published mostly in its original form. So, if you struggle a little with this story, bear with me and read on. The others will be a little more polished._

**The newest news**

Faith Meredith got off the train and squinted. Before she could orientate herself someone shouted her name, "Faith! Faith! Here! We are here!"

Jerry Meredith, who heaved their two suitcases out of the train, grinned at his sister, "I guess you're wanted, Faith."

"Looks like it," Faith laughed and kissed his cheek briefly.

"See you then, sister o' mine", Jerry grinned again, waved at her and disappeared into the crowd.

"Bye," Faith shouted after him without knowing if he had heard. Shaking her head she took her suitcase and went over to her two friends and fellow occupants, who waited near the exit.

"How was it? And how is your family? Fine, I hope. And you? Did you enjoy your holidays? And how was the birthday-celebration? You have to tell me EVERYTHING!" Louise Bell spoke at an unbelievable speed as soon as Faith was within earshot.

"How about letting her arrive first, Lou?," Elisabeth 'Lizzie' Harding obviously tried to calm Lou down.

"Yes, the voyage was just fine and I am as well, Lou," Faith assured with a smile as she reached them, "Hello, Lizzie."

"Hello," Lizzie smiled back and tried to say something else, but Lou interrupted her. Faith and Lizzie shared a meaningful look. Lou was a dear, but sometimes she could be really unnerving.

"You tell us about your weekend and afterwards we tell you the newest news from Redmond," Lou suggested and the way her eyes gleamed told Faith more than clearly, that she definitely shouldn't miss this 'newest news'.

"All right," she agreed and gave her suitcase to the driver, who'd bring them to their boarding home. During the drive she told the others everything about her short trip home.

Her stepmother Rosemary had celebrated her fortieth birthday and John Meredith had decided to gather the whole family, so that "Una and Bruce see their siblings again" and therefore both Faith and Jerry came from Kingsport and Carl from Queen's College to the Glen for a weekend.

It had been a nice celebration and Faith had enjoyed it immensely, in spite of all the stress before and afterwards. She had been especially pleased about the presence of the Blythes.

Nan and Di, otherwise known as 'the Twins', had come from their respective schools, where they taught, Shirley and Rilla were home anyhow and even Walter had been fine enough after a typhus-disease to participate in the celebration. But Faith – and not only she – had really missed the eldest, Jem Blythe, who was in his last year at Redmond and for the past month only had had his exams on his mind.

At least that was what Faith thought to be the cause, why he'd disassociated himself from her. If he wanted it that way, he'd get it that way. Faith was more than prepared to play the same game against Jem.

"All right, now you know everything and can tell me your 'newest news'. I know that you almost can't bear to hold it in," Faith grinned and looked at Lou attentively.

Neither of them noticed the look on Lizzie's face. She knew that this 'newest news' would wipe the smile out of Faith's face _very_ quickly.

"Let's go upstairs first," Lou suggested and on the stairs passed Margaret Davis, another fellow occupant of them, who was a sophomore, like Faith's brother Jerry.

"Hello Faith. Did you enjoy your vacation?" she asked pleasantly. Faith smiled, "Hello Margaret. Yes, it was just fine, thank you." Margaret returned her smile, Faith nodded politely and both went their ways. It was not that Margaret didn't like the three freshmen or vice versa, but they simply weren't close.

"So?" asked Faith a bit impatiently, once they were upstairs in her and Lizzie's room. Even if she would have rather died than admitting it, she now was really curious about Lou's 'newest news'.

Lou grinned and hesitated for a few seconds, as if to increase the suspense, before bursting out, "Jem Blythe is engaged to Suzette King. As good as, at least."

What followed was silence, until Lizzie cautiously asked, "Faith?"

Faith blinked and slowly repeated, "Jem... engaged... to Suzette King?"

"Well, as good as," Lou seemed oblivious to Faith's strange behaviour, "It's said that he wants to pop the question in the next days."

"I'm happy for him," Faith forced a smile on her face, "Really, I'm happy." But she didn't even believe herself.

"Faith? You all right?" Lizzie asked softly, when they lay in bed that evening. Faith pretended to sleep. It was well-meant, but she didn't really want to discuss Jem's engagement with anyone, not even with Lizzie.

"I know that you are awake, but if you don't want to talk, than that's fine by me. I simply wanted to help," Lizzie continued, knowing that it would do the trick. And it did.

"I'm sorry," Faith turned around to look at Lizzie. In the darkness her face was just a white spot against the dark hair.

"Lou's 'newest news' just shocked me. Jem has always been one of my best friends and that he's engaged seems really strange. I simply have to get used to it, I guess," Faith tried to smile, but failed miserably and was grateful for the darkness.

"You sure?" asked Lizzie, clearly not convinced. The explanation seemed a bit weak to her, even more so, when she thought about Faith's total shock, after she received the news or about the way her eyes began to gleam, when someone just mentioned Jem's name and the fact that a smile, a nice word coming from him could light up every grey day for Faith.

"Yes, I am," Faith assured her, "I simply can't get it into my head, that we're all grow up. I mean, it seemed just yesterday, that we played in Rainbow Valley, without a care in the world, and now... well, you know..."

Lizzie shrugged, than yawned, "All right. Good night, then."

"Night," Faith responded and turned around again. Her friend stared at her still silhouette and asked herself, if Faith really believed what she'd said or if she just wanted to believe it. Lizzie herself didn't believe one word of it.

Faith suppressed a sigh. As if she had wasted just one thought on _Rainbow Valley_, of all things. Her reaction had nothing to do with childhood melancholy or confusion about Jem marrying.

He was almost _twenty_. At that age her parents had had Jerry and she had been on the way. There was nothing unusual about becoming engaged at twenty. And Jem, if he really would study medicine, couldn't marry in the next three years. What she had said had been complete nonsense!

Now Faith did sigh and silently prayed that Lizzie hadn't heard. The other one didn't show any sign of noticing and a relieved Faith continued to try and organise her feelings, before she fell in a restless sleep.

In the next few days nothing seemed to be able to raise Faith's mood. She was irritable, couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes and was lost in her thoughts most of the time.

The only thing she always made sure was to disappear every time she only imagined to see a certain red-headed young man.

Lou had lost patience with her friend long ago and asked Faith to tell her if she "returned to her normal self again". Lizzie on the other hand made sure never to leave Faith's side for too long and constantly tried to cheer her up. Faith herself couldn't say what unnerved her more as both seemed almost unbearable to her.

True, these days it only needed a crack in one of the plates or a complicated homework to get her furious, but not even Faith herself could say, what exactly bothered her about Jem's engagement.

And that bothered her even more. If Jem wanted to get married, he should do just that. What did this concern Faith it in the first place?

Suzette King seemed to be a nice enough girl. She was a sophomore and thus not one of the girls Faith socialised with, but it was common knowledge, that Suzette was a nice, pretty and relatively clever girl from a good and wealthy family.

And she was friends with Margaret which only made her more suitable, because normally all of Margaret's friends were nice.

If someone would have asked Faith what she thought about Suzette King prior to her trip home, he'd have got a neutral, but not negative answer. If someone would have asked her afterwards, Faith wouldn't have bothered to answer. She didn't like Suzette anymore, even if the other never had given her a reason to dislike her. Right?

Faith was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realise the approaching man, until he sat down next to her on the bench. She turned around to tell him to leave her alone, but she forgot what she was about to say the moment she looked in the eyes of her counterpart.

In the very eyes, with which Gilbert Blythe once enchanted Anne Shirley and which in a few months would make Ken Ford fall in love with Rilla Blythe.

"Hello Faith."

Faith gulped. "Hello Jem. How... how are you?" she managed.

"Quite stressed with examinations coming up, but other than that I'm just fine," answered Jem and grinned, "To be honest I haven't been this well since _forever_."

After hearing his words Faith felt a stab somewhere near her heart, while his grin made her feel strangely light-headed.

"Hmh. Long time no see," Faith said, just to say something harmless. How could she know that she was giving Jem the perfect opportunity to discuss a topic he was very concerned about?

"Indeed. May it be possible, Miss Meredith, that you are avoiding me?" Jem still grinned roguishly, but his eyes showed Faith that he was serious.

"You think so?" she tried to sound surprised, "To be honest, it didn't even occur to me." She knew he wouldn't buy it. And he didn't.

"Faith, Faith, Faith. You never were able to lie to me. Why should it change now of all times?" Jem still managed to keep the conservation light on the surface. Normally Faith always admired him for this ability, but now it only irritated her.

Maybe that was, what made her lose control or maybe it was the whole situation. "What do you want, Jem?" she snapped and looked at him impatiently.

Jem was taken aback. Sure, he knew that she only had very little patience and was quick to snap at people but in all the years he had never been at the receiving end of her moods. Well, there was a first time for everything.

"I wanted to speak to my best friend," Jem responded mildly and could observe that Faith was slowly beginning to regret her behaviour.

She tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. But how should Jem know that she, if given the choice, wouldn't choose to be his 'best friend'?

For a moment they both were quiet. Jem watched Faith as she wrestled with herself over something he didn't knew.

After a while one side won and Faith forced a smile on her face about which Jem knew, that it was as fake as the fur coat the old Mrs. McAllister from Glen wore each winter.

"I heard you are engaged. Congratulations. It must be really exciting for you," Faith said with a voice that sounded false even in her own ears.

For a few seconds Jem stared at her, obviously speechless, then he quietly began to chuckle.

"What?" Faith frowned and maybe for the first time during this conversation allowed him to see a true, spontaneous emotion: confusion.

"So, I'm engaged?" Jem managed to keep his voice neutral, "To Suzette, I assume?"

"Yes," Faith suddenly seemed unsure, "The whole of Redmond talks about it."

"That's good to know," Jem grinned, "So I'd better find out where to get a ring soon enough. We wouldn't want to disappoint the whole Redmond, would we now?"

"You mean...?" Faith didn't seem able to complete her sentence. "Exactly," Jem seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

Faith remained quiet and tried to organise her thoughts and feelings, which – thanks to Jem, as always – were completely confused.

"I'm not engaged," Jem said, suddenly very serious, "not to Suzette and not to anyone else. And if I should consider to 'pop the question' some time in the future, I'll make sure that you'll be the first one to know. Promise."

Very slowly a smile made its way onto Faith's lips. It was one of the smiles she only showed when she was truly happy about something.

"That means, Lou's 'newest news' isn't real news, but only a rumour," she said sounding very contented.

"Frankly speaking, I did hear of this rumour," Jem confessed a bit remorseful, "I simply didn't mind it much. Everyone has a rumour about a non-existent relationship following him around sometime during his stay at Redmond. It's only natural.

"Sure, if I had only guessed how serious people take this, I'd have done something, but I seemed to be so absorbed in my studied, that I neglected everything around me. You included. I'm sorry."

"Forget about it," Faith grinned.

And again they were quiet for a few moments, but this time it was a comfortable silence. Like the ones in the past, when they could sit in silence for hours, without feeling awkward or needing to say something.

"But," Faith began after a while, "What exactly _is_ between you and Suzette?"

"Suzette is a nice girl, but definitely not like I picture my future wife to be," Jem responded frankly.

"Oh, the poor dear. I almost pity her," Faith said and smiled, as if she was laughing about her own secret joke, which she didn't want to share with anyone, not even with Jem.

"I would love to stay here with you longer, but, you see, I have this small examination – you might have heard of it – coming up and..." Jem said, again a bit remorseful.

"It's all right," Faith interrupted, "Just promise me two things: don't withdraw yourself from your surroundings like that again and don't overwork yourself."

"Promised" Jem grinned.

After Jem had said his goodbyes, Faith almost floated back to her boarding home.

On the way she met Suzette King, who had visited Margaret, and suddenly Faith had no problems to greet the other girl or to make a bit of small talk. Inwardly she pitied Suzette.

What did this girl have anyway? 'Nice' Jem had called her. But 'nice' Faith was as well. And she had something, what Suzette would never gain. Jem Blythe's confidence, his friendship and his esteem. And that, Faith thought, made life a whole lot easier.

Quickly she reached her boarding home and entered her room, where Lou and Lizzie were playing some kind of card game.

"Faith?" Lizzie asked cautiously, "Is everything all right?"

"Couldn't be better," Faith responded cheerfully and took out a school book, humming to herself all the while. Her friends shared a look and Lou bend forward to quietly ask Lizzie, "And what should we make of this?"


	2. Forgive me

_This is one of the what-if-stories, more to the point it is a "what if Jem had died instead of Walter"-story. Hope you enjoy._

**Forgive me**

_Where are the tears of yesterday night?  
Where is the snow of the year gone by?  
- Bertolt Brecht_

She buttoned her wedding dress, took up Rosemary's old veil and cast a look at the mirror. Saw the lines around her eyes, wondered when exactly time had elapsed and sighed softly. She was in her late twenties and today was her wedding day.

She should have been happy, that she knew, but on a day like this she could hardly help but think about the past. And how could anyone think back without remembering the war? The war, that still caused all of them so much pain, even now, even six years later.

They all had, of course, found the strength to go on, somehow, had searched their happiness and had found it to be sure, but the old injury still hurt much too often and it seemed as if nothing and no-one could ease this pain.

But as they said, life went on and looking back she knew, what they meant by it. Back then, just after the war, all of them had been eager to live.

Rilla and Ken had married first and already had two children. Next had been Carl, her baby brother _Carl_, now father of a little girl and with another child on the way. Nan, too, was pregnant with her and Jerry's third child, whereas Di and Shirley had a daughter and a son, respectively.

Walter... well, Walter was downstairs in the manse's living-room, waiting for her to come and marry him after all those years. And her sister... she sighed again and desperately pushed the rising guilt aside.

Nothing had been easy after Jem's death. After this terrible day in September, when Dr. Blythe had gotten notice of his eldest son being killed in action.

She still remembered it as vividly as if it had happened only yesterday. Remembered the Doctor, who seemed to have shed several years in a mere second. Remembered Mrs. Blythe and the broken look evident in her eyes.

Remembered Nan's anguished cry and Di's face, deadly-pale and horror-stricken. Remembered Rilla and her never-drying tears, her never-ceasing sobs. Remembered... no! No. It hurt too much. This memory more than anything else.

Back then people in Glen had wondered much and talked a lot and in the end had been almost sure, that the Blythes would ever get over their loss, but somehow it seemed as if time had proved them wrong.

"Did we get over it? No, we never did and we never will," Rilla had reflected two years previously, "but we learnt to cope with it. It was horrible, but it was a clean cut. It healed, though a scar remained."

A scar. Every day she prayed for it to really be only a scar. But she knew it was none. It was a wound, as fresh as it had been nine years ago, still bleeding, still paining too much to be healed.

And now she had to go out there and celebrate the happiest day of her life.

Her thoughts drifted to Walter, her bridegroom. He had come back so changed, so very changed. The ever-present fear, the all-consuming ugliness, the inconceivable cruelties and Jem's death, of course, had changed him – and not only him, but all of them.

Still, Walter had managed to go on and shortly after his return had started to court her. It had been a surprise to her, but everyone else had seemed to await this.

Countless of people had tried to convince her that he had always loved her and only her. It had been hard for her to believe and even today, as grateful as she was for his love, she couldn't quite understand, grasp, take in.

It had taken much time until she had finally given in to him, for she had even declined his first proposal. Many had deemed her crazy then, had failed to understand the motives, that were so clear and logical to her.

She had thought of Jem, of her sister and had been sure, that she could not do this, not ever. And still she stood here today, in her wedding dress, about to do the one thing she had thought to be the uttermost betrayal possible. Betrayal of the one person she had always loved most.

A lot of people had tried to make her marry Walter, but in the end it had been her sister who had managed to change her mind, her sister to whom Walter owed the pleasure of marrying the woman of his dreams, the woman that still deemed her doings an inexcusable betrayal.

Just then the door opened and a golden head bobbed in. "Your groom is waiting for you, Una," Faith reminded gently.

Una nodded. "Yes. Yes, I... I'll be down soon."

A soft smile, hardly visible at all, tucked at the corner's of Faith's mouth as she nodded, then withdrew and softly closed the door behind her.

Una didn't stir, just starred at the spot where her sister had been only moments before and suddenly was ashamed of herself.

Ashamed, because her dreams were about to come true, when Faith's hopes had been shattered by a bullet nine years ago. Ashamed, because she was happy, when it cost Faith an enormous strength to manage a mere smile. Ashamed, because in spite of all her prayers she would never be able to help.

Ashamed, because it was the look in Faith's eyes they had broken and not the one in her owns.


	3. Snowflakes

_Another what-if-story, this times dealing with the question of how thing would have turned out had Joy not died at birth, but grown into a woman with her very own hopes and dreams and sorrows. Enjoy!_

**Snowflakes  
**It was Christmas. Christmas in 1919. The war was over and her brothers were back and her friends were and she should have been happy and yet she wasn't. She wasn't unhappy either, but...

Mrs. Darryl Raine, Joy Blythe of old, sighed softly. She wasn't unhappy, no, she was glad and grateful and lucky, but it was Christmas and looking around her, seeing the happy, hopeful faces of her brothers and sisters, she felt alone.

Jem, laughing, talking, grinning, never once letting go of Faith Meredith's hand, almost as if he was afraid that she would disappear as soon as he did.

Nan, cheeks flushed, eyes downcast, listening to the low, dark voice of Faith's oldest brother Jerry, telling her sweet nonsense, as old as love itself.

Di, still without her one special person, but content with it and right at that moment cooing over small Dorothy Gould, daughter of one Anne Cordelia Wright.

Shirley, reading quietly to fair Persis Ford, both of them still claiming to be nothing but friends, but oh, didn't they all know better?

Rilla, _Baby Rilla_, looking up at Kenneth Ford, smiling and laughing at his jokes and little tales, eyes shining brighter than even the ring on her hand.

As if feeling her sisters glance rest on her, Rilla turned around, smiled, raised a hand to silence Ken, just for a second. "Joy." Not a question, not an exclamation, just that old, _old_ nickname, only she still used.

It had been Joyce herself, asking everyone to call her by her real name, despite the hurt look in her mother's eyes and the worried one in her father's. It had been the day joy had vanished from her life and her own name had seemed a farce to her.

"Could you perhaps look after Darryl for a moment?" A quick gesture towards the small boy of four years, sitting at her feet.

Rilla smiled. "Sure. Come here, Darryl."

The boy warily eyed his youngest aunt and the stranger next to her, not sure if he could be trusted. A soft nudge from his mother made him stand up and walk over, tightly clutching his favourite teddy bear

He sat down as close to Rilla as possible, who smiled down at the young boy and ruffled his blond hair affectionately.

"He's still a bit scared of strangers," she told Kenneth almost apologetic, but he just laughed good-naturedly and picked up his latest tale where he had left off.

Joyce, before heading outside, cast a look at young May, a girl of almost six with a temper to match her fiery red hair and the total opposite of her quiet, reserved younger brother, who sat on her grandfather's lap, eating more cookies than good for her.

Normally Joyce would have interfered, but today was Christmas and she didn't have the nerves to deal with a crying May anyhow, so she didn't, even though it made the night-watches at the bed of a stomach-ill child inevitable.

She walked outside on the veranda, was greeted by an ice-cold stream of winter air and instinctively pulled the cloth around her shoulders tighter. The garden was covered in a white layer, even though it had stopped snowing an hour ago.

Joyce took a bit of snow from the veranda-railing, watched it melt in a matter of seconds in her hand and smiled, barely visible. She had always liked snow.

It had been snowing when she had met Darryl Raine on a cold December day in 1911. She had been in Kingsport for her last year at Redmond college, had dreamed of becoming a doctor, of helping and rescuing lives, just like her father did.

He had been there on a business trip, already an established businessman of 31 to her mere 19, but still, they had clicked and all dreams of studying medicine had vanished from Joyce's mind.

They had been married half a year later, in July, just after her graduation and twentieth birthday and oh, how happy they had been.

Parting from her family had been anything but easy but they had taken up residence in Ottawa and so parting Joyce had to do, not knowing that she would only live in the old and somewhat spooky house for two years.

Their daughter, Mary Anne Raine, called May by everyone but her paternal grandmother, after whom she was named, had been born on a January day full of snow in 1914, when they had still been happy and hopeful and war had been nothing but a faint, far away thing only the pessimistic talked about.

It had come, though. It had come and it had taken Darryl away, right along with Jem and Jerry Meredith and so many other young men and Joyce and May had moved to Ingleside, because the old house in Ottawa, it seemed to his Mistress, only got spookier the emptier it got.

There had been one time, one last time, when Darryl had come back, in early 1915, before he had gone overseas and nine months later, on a snowy day in late October, Joyce had given birth to a baby boy.

She had sent a letter, telling her husband of the new arrival and asking him to name his son. She had never received a reply. To this day she wasn't sure, if Darryl had ever read her letter, if he had ever known of the existence of his son.

Notice had come on a pale, cold December morning, when a thick layer of snow had covered everything, it seemed, much like four years prior, and when the still unnamed baby, which, on that very day would be named Darryl George Raine II, had woken up his mother early.

She had tended him and Susan had prepared breakfast, so it had been Rilla answering the phone, a bit sleepy still, not quite awake, balancing small May on one hip.

Joyce couldn't remember her sister saying any coherent sentence at all and neither could she remember any foreshadowing feeling she herself might have had. There was just blankness, nothingness.

Rilla had hung up, had looked at her, her face pale, as pale as the snowflakes steadily falling outside or Susan's trimmed and starched apron, not quite as new and _chic_ as it had been in 1914.

"Joy."

That one word, that one name had meant the end of Joy. From that moment on it had been the epitome of the day her world had come crashing down. The day she had lost _joy_ forever.

She had refused to be called Joy afterwards and Rilla had refused to call her anything but, so after a while Joyce had just given in, had allowed Rilla to call her that and Rilla alone.

They had always been close, despite their age-gap of seven years, because Jem and Walter had been best friends and Nan and Di had been an item from day one and Shirley had been and would always be just Shirley and that had left them.

The war, the loss of Joyce's husband and their brother, taking care of the children, helping their parents wherever they could and the constant worry had only made them closer.

Looking back, Joyce thought that maybe that had been why she had given Rilla the permission to call her Joy, without really minding.

"You'll catch your death out here, you know."

Joyce smiled, not needing to turn around to know who was talking.

"Oh, and you won't, Jack Wright?"

He didn't answer at once, but she heard the faint sound his wooden leg made on the veranda-floor, as he came nearer to stand beside her.

"Oh, I'm tough. You, on the other hand, are not."

Jack looked at her, smiled slightly, content, as he heard her laugh softly. He knew, she hadn't laughed often in these last years. None of them had.

"You need a wife, Jack. You _know_ you need one."

She shook her head, still smiling, then looked up at him. He shrugged.

"So? _You_ need a husband, darling, and you don't have one either."

He saw the laugh leave her eyes at once.

"I have Darryl."

Jack shook his head.

"You _had_ Darryl. He's dead."

Joyce jerked back, her eyes flashing.

"How _dare_ you?"

She tried to get away from him but Jack grasped her arm and firmly held her in place.

"He's dead and I can only begin to imagine how hard that must be for you, but it's been four years now and I think it's time you realise that life goes on after all."

Jack tried to look at her but Joyce averted her gaze.

"It doesn't."

Her voice was soft, barely audible, but he heard it, reached out, pulled her into his arms.

"It does. Believe me. I thought the same thing, when... when they took my leg. But then I realised that it wasn't the end and that life's always worth living. You only have to let it happen, you know."

Joyce was silent.

"See, you're my best friend and I can't just stand here and watch you throw your life away. I mean, you're young, only twenty-seven and there's a big, old world out there. And I can assure you, there's also joy somewhere, right around the corner, just waiting for you to find it."

She pulled away slightly, looked up at him, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

"You think so?"

Jack smiled.

"Positive. And besides, I'm more than willing to help you search for it, _My_ Joy."

Above them, it had started snowing again.


	4. What remains

_The next story was written for an Anne-Christmas-prompt. I wasn't in a particularly happy place when I wrote this and consequently the story isn't happy either, but it is still one of my favourites. Hope you like it as well._

**What remains**

It was just a grey veil.

A grey veil, so fickle and slight it should have been easy to brush it aside with one movement of a hand. But it was not possible. He had tried countless of times. And failed.

Because this veil, separating him from the happy group of people in whose midst he moved, yet unseen and unnoticed, this veil was not some simple piece of cloth one could touch or move.

It was the veil separating the dead from the living, from the very first day and into eternity, unyielding, undefeatable.

It had been a grenade for him. A grenade that had mangled him, then pain, pain, voices, pain again and finally sacred silence.

He had taken his time in realising he was dead. Realising why people around him suddenly seemed grey and shadowy, why they never looked at him when he talked and why he could not touch anyone, much as he tried.

That had been three years ago and it was his fourth Christmas behind the veil, but the first time he had dared to come back to the home of his childhood. The first Christmas in Ingleside since his death.

They had set his place at the table and he felt a strange sensation whenever he looked at it. Not so much joy as plain relief. Relief that they had not forgotten him. Yet.

Right now he was watching the people around him, so close and yet unreachable. Watched them laugh and talk and eat and sing and wished desperately to be back among them.

He saw his parents and as usual he was shocked for a moment at how old they had gotten. His father's hair was now more grey than brown and his mother who had always seemed to him like a young girl, much more than some of the truly young girls in the Glen, appeared strangely grown-up.

They had told them he had died a quick and painless death, he knew, shot by a single bullet and dead in an instant. Sometimes he wondered whether they had ever guessed the truth – that death had come to him only after days of suffering and that it had been a relief.

Jem certainly knew that the official cause of death was usually a blatant lie, told to appease the families, but even his somewhat brash and sometimes tactless brother had been taught by the war when to keep his silence and keep his silence he did. Kept silent about so many things as all soldiers did and as he too would have done, had he lived.

Currently though Jem was talking, telling some amusing tale, the centre of attention as he often was, sitting next to Faith, a little too close for propriety, and lightly touching her arm with his hand whenever he had the chance.

Something about the picture they presented tore open an old wound of his, the one he had deemed to have healed long ago, and showed once again that feelings survive even death. Certain feelings at least.

He laughed softly and knew that, had they been able to hear him, they would have been surprised at the bitterness in his laugh. War had changed him. Perhaps death had.

Because didn't the hero always get the princess in the end? Had not Jem always been the hero among them? And Faith the only one that could possibly be called a princess?

The times of Knights in Shining Armour were, of course, long gone, but instead she got a doctor and a soldier with half a Modell T and nowadays that was the best there could be.

He averted he gaze, glanced over at his oldest younger sister, pretending to listen to Jem, but to those who knew Nan it was evident in her gaze that she was lost in thoughts, undoubtedly thinking about Jerry, who stood on the other side of the room, talking to Carl.

Neither seemed interested in hearing Jem's tale – perhaps they were already familiar with it, who knew? –, but he could hardly hold it against them.

Jem had by now reached the punch line and as he turned back around he could see his youngest sister Rilla using the general laughter as a cover to steal away. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ken taking a step towards her, but aborting the attempt once he realised to whom exactly Rilla wanted to talk to.

The young woman sat in a corner, partly hidden, her dark head bowed and was older than she had been before the war, but weren't they all?

He watched Rilla extend a hand and gently touch her shoulder, making a remark too quiet for him to hear and the pain that suddenly flashed through him made a mockery of the slight ache he had felt at the sight of Faith.

She looked lost without being helpless, sad but not desperate. Because the world had hurt Una Meredith far too often and she had learned how to be strong, perhaps stronger than anyone else.

Still it hurt.

"It is time." He did not need to turn around to know it was Aunt Marilla who had spoken.

"She is right," affirmed his grandfather John, "you have been down here for far too long."

He did not move.

"It has been over three years," reminded his grandmother Bertha, who he had only got to know in death, "you have to let got. There is no going back for us, we can only go on. And if you do not do that your feelings will consume you before long."

Slowly he turned around, reluctance clearly evident in the grey eyes his mother had loved so much. Still loved.

"They will be alright," Uncle Matthew, as quiet in death as he had been in life and his preferred companion nonetheless, "all of them."

Then the small red-headed girl, who could not possibly have been more aptly named, stepped forward and took his hand, tugging lightly.

He did not fight it anymore, but let them take him away.

The people around the Christmas tree grew more shadowy still, the veil fluttered and suddenly the thought was no longer a frightening one, but strangely comforting.

It was just a grey veil.


End file.
